


She kills my self control

by Laequiem



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, Cardan pov, F/M, Fantasizing, Hate Sex, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Pining, Smut, The author and Cardan both worship Jude, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laequiem/pseuds/Laequiem
Summary: Cardan is trying to figure out his feelings for Jude. Lots of pining. Lots of fantasizing. Set during The Cruel Prince, expanding on existing scenes and adding some.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 92
Kudos: 377
Collections: favorite on TFOTA





	1. The one you want the most will be the one that you defy

**Author's Note:**

> Like a lot of people, I'm eagerly waiting for Cardan's novella. So I wrote a thing. This isn't really a Cardan POV re-write of TCP, I'm mostly expanding on what happens after some iconic scenes (and adding some random scenes). Hope you like it! 
> 
> For some reason, I decided to title the chapters of this fanfic with Scissor Sister lyrics. This chapter's title is from Lights - Scissor Sisters.

This morning’s lesson had been boring, as always. What use do I have with plant taxonomy? The afternoon’s lecture is even more tedious: etiquette. As if that hadn’t been ingrained in my brain from growing up in court and being taught how to behave - knowledge that I used to do the exact opposite. 

Thankfully, we have an hour to eat before the next lecture. I sit with my back against a tree, eating from a giant plate of cheese, nuts and fruits that a servant brought for me. I share the meal with Valerian and Locke, who were about as interested in the previous lecture as I was. Nicasia is eating with some of the other female students today. Under the biggest tree in the yard, on a colorful wool blanket, the human twins eat together.

"So, Locke. You still haven't told us which one you're fucking."

A few weeks ago, Locke had told us about his plans to seduce the twins - his exact wording. He detailed his plan to throw rocks at their window and serenade them, but he never mentioned which one he was seeing. Valerian thinks he's trying to hide it from us, but I can tell the twins apart. I've seen Locke eyeing both of them.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Locke told him in his smuggest tone.

I would. I don't know why, but I would. Something about seeing Locke with Jude, touching her casually, gets in my head. I know he’ll only use her and dump her - and I don’t know why I even care. I turn my gaze towards the girls. Jude is gesticulating as she tells something to Taryn, who listens to her intently. My eyes follow her hand as she spreads a thick red jam on a piece of bread and brings it to her mouth. Some jam sticks to her cheek and I watch as Taryn leans forward and wipes it away.

"Cardan?"

I quickly turn my head back to my friends and try to look as bored as possible. "What?"

I see Locke's cunning eyes narrow as he looks at me. He saw me staring at them. Fuck.

"Fuck, Marry, Kill. The Duarte sisters." Valerian replies.

Only my friends could play such a game when the subjects of said game are sitting a few meters away. It is a traditionally human game, but the concept of it is so typically fae that it caught on very quickly in Faerie. I consider it for a moment, trying not to think too hard about it. 

"Taryn looks like she would be a good obedient housewife."

That leaves the other two. I bring a piece of golden fruit to my mouth. 

"I bet Vivi is a lot of fun. Not as much of a prude as the others."

"Their bodies are so _vulgar_ ," Valerian says with disgust, nodding towards Taryn and Jude, “Vivienne is the only good option.”

“So I guess you’d kill Jude,” Locke concludes, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug. I would never actually do it, but if she was gone… Perhaps I would stop thinking about her all the time. 

“I bet she would love to know. Right, Locke?” Valerian grins as he gets up. 

Oh no, he will not use me to scare her. 

“You were not an option, Valerian, but nothing stops me from killing you if you tell her.”

“You’re such a killjoy, Your Highness,” Valerian spits as he rolls his eyes.

As Valerian leaves towards where Nicasia was eating, Locke leans in towards me, his grin wicked.

“We both know who you’d rather fuck.”

I give him my best imitation of his grin. “I get plenty already, I have no need for inexperienced humans.”

He snickers. I have had enough, of him, of this day, of being sober.

“Tell the professor I was needed at the palace.”

I get up and leave the courtyard without a look back. Nobody stops me as I walk to Hollow Hall, probably sensing my temper getting worse by every second I spend sober. I need a drink, some hallucinogen - anything to make me feel numb and stop thinking so much. 

I grab a bottle from the kitchen as I walk to my room and lock the door behind me. Not even bothering with a glass, I down half of the wine in one go.

Why do I keep thinking about her? She’s just a mortal. Destined to rot in the soil and feed the worms. There are dozens of mortals working in this very house, and I never had any interest to take any of them to bed.

I draw myself a bath in the coldest water possible. I hiss as I enter, but even after spending a few minutes in, it does not remove the images from my mind. Her full lips. The jam on her cheek and how much I want to lick it clean. That sharp tongue sucking jam off her finger. I lean back in the bath and sigh. I’m a degenerate. I grab my cock and make quick work of it. I’m still disgusted with myself after I come. 

I drink the rest of the bottle and throw it against a wall. It shatters.


	2. When you cut the lights out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Cruel Prince, Chapter 8
> 
> TW for mention of abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Lights - Scissor Sisters

I do not know what made me tell Taryn why I kicked dirt on their food, why we pushed them in the river. Maybe it was because I wanted to see how she would react, and seeing her cry in front of me right now sure made me feel powerful. I think a part of me wanted to tell her to ruin Locke’s fun. I thought maybe if she knew the truth, she would get rid of him before he left her for her sister.

Not that I want Locke to be with her sister. I know not what I want. 

Suddenly, I hear fast steps towards us. I make to turn, and I am immediately shoved towards a tree. Pain slashed through my body as the rough bark pressed into the days-old wounds on my back. I manage not to wince, but I can’t help being surprised. Jude is gripping my doublet, her knuckles white, staring daggers at me. 

“I don’t know what you said to her, but don’t you ever go near my sister again! You gave her your word.”

A strange emotion travels through me. Is it fear? I’m unsure. I stare at her for a moment. Am I afraid of her, a mere mortal? Or is it something else? No matter, she should not affect me like that. I bare my teeth at her.

“Oh, you’re going to regret doing that.”

Jude shoves me once more against the tree and turns to grab her sister’s hand. This time, I can’t help wincing as one of the ridges of the tree bark stabs one of my wounds. Thankfully, everyone was gaping at Jude, too shocked at her behavior to pay attention to me. 

I was mostly quiet for the rest of the day. When I go to sleep, I dream of her. She is on top of me, naked, her brown hair covering her breasts. Her hands are on my chest, pinning me to the ground under her. She grins down at me as she bobs up and down, using me to pleasure herself. I feel her clench around me and she throws her head back. Her nails dig into my skin, leaving bleeding scratches behind as she comes loudly.

When I get close to finishing, she vanishes. I wake up, confused and unsatisfied.


	3. Comfortably numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Comfortably numb - Scissor sisters  
> Chapter set after TCP Chapter 9
> 
> TW: abuse (aka Balekin is involved)

_Now I've got that feeling once again_

_I can't explain, you would not understand_

_This isn't how I am_

_I have become comfortably numb_

The summer tournament had been a disaster. I never expected to win -nor did I care about winning, even knowing Balekin would punish me for losing. I knew I would not stand out, I am no fighter. Being average is fine, but losing to a team that contained a mortal was another thing. I thought we had scared Jude Duarte enough that she would forfeit, but she did not. Instead, she defied me in front of everyone. Balekin had not stayed until then, but I knew he would learn about my failures.

I stand in my eldest brother’s study, looking anywhere but at him. 

“You know what Dain told me, little brother? He said that the mortal girl refused to bow to you,” Balekin said mockingly, “You did not even punish her.”

Of course, Dain would be the one to tell him. He delights in humiliating me.

“Now, why is that? She ought to be taught manners.”

_I am going to shame you with my defiance._

She is an idiot. Defiance only gets you six feet under. There was nothing I could do against Balekin. I just lower my head.

“When will you learn to be a prince, Cardan? Don’t we set a good example for you?”

“Yes, you do.”

“So why don’t you follow it?”

Because it will never be enough. Because I will never be king, because I will never have their approval, because I will always be the failure of a prince that I was destined to be. I shrug.

“Undress.”

I do. I tuck my tail safely between my legs. The white marble floor of Balekin’s room is cold under my naked knees. I try not to think about the servants who have to clean my blood off this floor every time my brother punishes me. 

My own words echo in my mind as I kneel in front of my eldest brother.

_Get down on your knees. Beg. Make it pretty. Flowery. Worthy of me._

I would never beg Balekin. Or anyone. I wanted Jude to do the one thing I would not do, to make her inferior, make myself have control over her.

“Ten lashes sounds fair, doesn’t it, brother?”

“Yes, brother.”

I put the leather bit in my mouth. I don’t know if he allows me to have it because he has mercy on me, or because he does not want the servants to be startled by my screams. 

The first hit of his multi-tail whip surprises me and I grunt. I manage to keep silent for the next few hits, biting down on the bit as hard as I can. After the seventh lash, I feel my eyes getting watery. Nine lashes and I taste blood in my mouth. Balekin comes around and lifts my chin to make me look at him. Looking at him always felt like looking in a mirror, with his dark owl eyes and long black hair. This is what everyone wants me to become, but I hate it. Balekin’s cruelty came from a different place than mine. His came from perversion. He enjoyed causing pain.

“I only do this because I love you, Cardan. I want you to be the best version of yourself you can be.”

I heard the unspoken words. The ones everyone thought of me. _You’re not enough_.

He goes back behind me. I am too numb to feel the last hit.

He leaves without another word. I spend a few minutes sitting on the floor before there is a knock on the door. I don’t even bother answering, the servant opens the door quietly and leaves a poultice and a tin of salve on the floor. They learned over time that I won’t let them apply it to me, but they still bring it to me. 

I get up and shrug my clothes on, take the things the servant left for me and head to my rooms. I carefully clean my wounds, then crash face-first on my bed. 

I can’t sleep. It hurts too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the apple scene so expect a lot of simping!


	4. Sweetest taste is never gonna leave you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sex & Violence - Scissor Sisters
> 
> Based on The Cruel Prince chapter 11

Why do my friends always go too far? First, Nicasia slapped Jude, and now Valerian is choking her with an everapple. I was already walking towards them, eager to watch Jude make a fool of herself, but I sped up my walk when I realized Valerian would not stop. He would keep going until he watched the light vanish from her eyes.

When I reach them, I push Valerian away from her. She’s covered in tears and snot.

“Ruin my fun, will you?” Valerian snarls at me.

I should shove the rest of the fruit down his throat to shut him up. Instead, I take the salt from Jude's basket and grin. I unscrew the container, then dump the content. My friends laugh.

“What’s wrong with you, Valerian? If she dies, your little prank is over before it begins.” I scoff.

Her tears have now dried as the everapple properties kick in. She stops fighting back. For the first time since I have known her, she is smiling at me. I ignore the tightening in my chest at the sight. 

I should be enjoying this. A mortal affected by the most banal fruit, a proof of her inferiority. The usually defiant mortal girl, the girl who haunts me day and night, completely at our mercy.

Yet, I am not. I am angry at my friends for going too far. Angry at myself for letting them, but also for not being able to ignore it. I ought to let them do as they please with her, this kind of humiliation is what we do. As I try to decide if I should put an end to this, Nicasia speaks.

“You’re wearing too many clothes and they’ve grown dirty. You should take them off.”

I do not want them to stop anymore. 

This is degrading and cruel, exactly what I am known for. It is appropriate for me to delight in this. Surely, this is the only reason I want them to keep going.

Yet, as Jude removes her clothes and stands in her underwear, I feel more than the sick satisfaction I get from putting others down. It is a different kind of sick feeling, one I would never admit out loud. 

I drink in every inch of skin, burning the image in my mind. She looks even more delicious than I ever imagined. My very own sweet, poisonous fruit. Were I to take a bite, would I crave her as she craves faerie fruit?

I want to touch her, sink my nails in her soft curves. I want to rip those flashy bits of fabric off of her. I want to take her right here and hear how loud I can make her scream. Use the euphoria she is feeling to make her hunger for more.

I would never, of course. When she begs me in such a way, it will be with a clear mind. It would mean nothing otherwise.

Why do I want it to _mean_ something?

“Come and lick my hands clean,” drawls Nicasia, “You don’t mind, do you? But you have to do it on your knees.”

“No,” I snap.

I can still enjoy myself a little, even if I hate myself for wanting to indulge.

I remove one of my shoes, giving them my best smug grin. I coat my words with the sweetest glamour.

“Jude will come here and kiss my foot. She said she wanted to kiss us. And I am her prince, after all.”

Nicasia looks disappointed, but she stands back. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Valerian and Locke come closer. I tap my foot impatiently, staring down at Jude. 

“Well? Be quick about it. Kiss my foot and tell me how great I am. Tell me how much you admire me.”

I have practiced the part of the snappy, spoiled prince for long enough. I know I am good at it. Yet, as I try to sound impatient and cruel, I fear that my true feelings show through. That my friends might guess that I wish for any sign of kindness from her, any proof that she spares a second thought to me. That I _want_ Jude to tell me she admires me. I cannot fathom why she would, when she bests me in every way. 

“Enough,” Locke steps closer, “I’m taking her home.”

Of course he would use the opportunity to play the hero.

“Are you, now? Interesting timing. You like the savor of a little humiliation, just not too much?”

Out of all my friends, Locke is the one who gets under my skin the most. I believe he knows it, too. Nicasia broke my rotten heart. Valerian is cruel and irredeemable, but were he to stab me, he would do it facing me. Locke, however, would stab me in the back. In many ways, he already has. He delights in schemes, he is a liar, a hypocrite, a cheater. And the cunning little fox is the most observant of them all.

“I hate it when you get like this.” he replies under his breath.

I scoff. This is the only side of me he knows. I reach inside my coat for a pin and take Jude’s hand. The cold of it sends a shiver down my body. I suddenly feel the need to hold her hand between mine to warm it up. How cold she must be right now, in her underthings. Instead, I take the pin and prick her finger. Blood has sodium in it, right? I am not the best student, my knowledge in human biology is limited, but that sounds right.

Hopefully, this can get her safely home.

“Have a nice walk home.”

I immediately turn to the other students, trying to ignore the rage festering inside me at the thought of Locke being the one to bring her home.

“She was enjoying herself, Cardan!” Valerian growled, “Why did you stop it?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically. “Is this really the way you want her to die? Surely, you would enjoy gutting her even more.”

“Drowning sounds mighty appealing too,” Nicasia pipes up.

They both laugh and I join them. One of the girls from our class is holding on to my arm, joining the conversation with us, but my mind keeps going back to Jude’s cold hand. Instinctively, I look towards where Jude and Locke left and see that he has her wrapped in a blanket. 

* * *

Jude and Taryn did not come to the next few lectures. When Jude starts coming again, Locke walks her home afterwards. He is dating both of them. 

“She tastes super weird. Bitter. Like poison." Locke muses one day, "Her sister does not, it’s like she's a poisonous plant trying to keep predators away."

"Too bad it does not work on you." Nicasia mutters.

Somehow, it does not surprise me. After all, Jude Duarte is all swagger and daggers, aposematic to her very core. She is nothing like the easy girls Locke usually goes, but perhaps he likes the challenge. Perhaps he only wants to pit the sisters against each other and see what happens. 

The knowing looks he gives me whenever she is around tell me another story. The way my heart twists when I see them together, my brows twitching despite my self control. Sometimes, I think he knows about my nightmares, those where he takes what he wants from Jude while I am forced to watch. About my daydreams of shutting her fierce mouth with mine. Certainly, he notices how picky I have become with who I tumble at parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life 🥰 thanks for reading!


	5. You’re filthy, and I’m gorgeous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Filthy/Gorgeous by Scissor Sisters.
> 
> Based on The Cruel Prince, Chapter 16  
> Just a heads up that this chapter is very explicit. I'm almost sorry.

My mind was already completely gone when Locke showed up with Jude. I am vaguely aware of the faeries caressing me, one of them kissing my face. All I can see is her. I catch myself imagining her mouth kissing me, her hands touching my chest, my face, my legs. 

I spend the entire night watching them. I watch as Locke chases her through the maze, and when he finally catches her, he backs her into the hedges and kisses her neck, his hands roaming down her back. He makes her drink and dance. She’s wearing an extravagant gown embroidered with dancing fawns and it twirls with her as she dances. It is beautiful, but no doubt borrowed. Jude rarely wears dresses - and when she does, they are nothing like this. Still, as I watch her dance amongst the trees, I start to picture how gorgeous she would look in a different dress - the shadows of trees imprinted on a gown in the colors of night.

When Locke and Jude head inside, Locke turns his gaze to me and winks. When he closes the door behind him, I push the two faeries off of me and get up. My blood is roaring in my ears so loudly that I do not hear them protesting. I have to walk. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to move. 

I walk through the maze, going deeper and deeper in the maze hoping to get lost. Eventually, I stumble upon Nicasia, wine in hand, sitting by herself in a gazebo. She does not look as drunk as me, but she has also been drinking. 

“He sure played us both like fools, didn’t he?”

More than you know.

“That’s what he does. What did you expect?”

I cannot help snapping at her, taking some of the edge from my wrath. Locke might be the most quiet of our little group at school, but he is wild and unpredictable in every other setting. His promiscuity is not a secret to any of us. I want to scream at her for being stupid enough to fall for him. I want to scream at Locke. At Jude, for invading my every thought.

Nicasia stays silent for a moment. She watches wine swirl in her glass, then drinks. 

“I thought he liked me. Had I known that he…” she trails off and sighs, “I would not have left you for him.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, she would not. Why would she, when I hold a higher place in court? I might be the last choice as a successor to the throne, but I am still a Prince of Faerie. Whatever Locke promised her, it was more than what I offered her. I really did love her, back then. She broke whatever small scrap of meat I have for a heart.

“I would not mind… trying again. If you would have me.”

She finally looks up at me. Her face is blushed, her eyes glossy. I think she might have been crying before I found her. She has always been a sad drunk. I used to hold her as she cried, in this very maze, when she had had too much to drink. A small part of me still wants to go hold her, but I stay where I am, looking down on her. 

“I do not give second chances,” I shoot back. It sounds colder than I intended, but I cannot make myself care.

I turn my back to her and leave the maze. Sitting on a bench near the entrance to the estate, I find two female faeries I vaguely remember seeing around the palace grounds. I might have danced with one of them - or both - at a revel, though I do not know their names.

“Your highness, are you leaving already?” One of them asks me.

“And alone?” The second one continues.

I walk towards them and smirk. “Is that a proposition?”

They look at each other and giggle. I look between the both of them. One of them has purple skin and curling horns. The other one has tree-bark skin, long brown hair, and a slightly curvier frame than the average faerie. She will do. 

I need to get Jude out of my mind, and there is only one way I know how to. 

I take her cocktail glass out of her hand and drink it in one gulp. She protests jokingly, but stops immediately as I wrap my other arm around her waist and tug her towards me.

"I never leave gatherings alone," I drawl as I lean around her to put the empty glass on the bench, "Shall we go?"

Her friend is watching us with her mouth wide open. I think she wanted to join us, but this is not what I am after today. Still, I wink at her, then drag my new conquest away towards the side of the house. I pin her to the stone wall. My hands roam down her back as I kiss her mouth, her jaw, her too-pointy ears. I grab her ass while I kiss my way down her throat. Her skin is not smooth enough, her hips too bony against mine.

"Tell me what you want," I order between kisses.

She drops to her knees, hands in front of her like a supplicant. I am glad she is willing to play along. "I want to taste you, Your Highness. Please let me taste you."

I grin down at her as I undo the laces of my pants. Quickly, she takes over and drags them down before taking my dick in her hands. She seems ecstatic, almost in awe. 

I brace one of my arms against the stone wall while the other goes behind her head to play with her hair. From this angle, she definitely looks like  _ her. _ I know how wrong this whole thing is, yet I am willing to indulge if it gets her out of my head.

She takes me in her mouth and I let out a sigh. She starts building up a pace, but it is too careful, too slow. I push on the back of her head, gripping her hair harder than necessary. Soon enough, I am repeatedly slamming the back of her throat.

I picture that it is Jude's sinful mouth on me, too busy pleasuring me to taunt me. 

Jude using her sharp tongue to worship my cock instead of humiliating me. 

Jude on her knees. For me.

When she pulls back for air, I drag her up. I hook one of my arms under her knee and lift her up as I kiss and bite her neck. With my other hand, I guide myself to her entrance and probe at it, teasing. I look up at her.

Her eyes are completely black - iris and sclera both. This will not do. How low I have fallen, craving the dull normality of a human face. I groan and let go of her leg, flipping her around so she is facing the wall. She lets out a surprised sound, but laughs as I fist her hair. I give it a sharp pull and bring her mouth to mine. My body is pressed against her, my erection resting on her backside. She is shifting around, clearly trying to get me closer to where she wants me. 

I stop kissing her to whisper in her ear. “Beg for it.”

Through the closeness of our bodies, I can feel a shiver going down her spine.

"Please take me, Your Highness."

I grin against her neck and penetrate her in one swift stroke. She lets out a loud moan. I channel the anger that festers inside me in every thrust.

When I come, my brain keeps chanting the same word over and over again. 

Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude.


	6. A lot of wonder going through my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balekin is busy licking Dad’s boots, so Cardan roams Hollow Hall freely. He realizes a servant (pssst it’s Sophie) is missing. Also he goes to his room and obsesses over Jude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Baby Come Home - Scissor Sisters

"My door," I drawl as I approach Hollow Hall.

"My Prince," my door replies.

"Is my brother home?"

The last few days have been quiet for me, thankfully. Balekin is away more than usual, trying to get in our father's good grace. It was never officially announced who would be crowned, but we all know it will be Dain. That does not mean Balekin and Elowyn will not try harder than usual to appease the High King. It does mean, unfortunately for me, that my eldest brother tends to be in a bad mood when he is home. Consequently, I have made a habit of asking the door before entering, must I find some other place to be.

"No, my prince."

When I get in, a human boy takes my coat to hang. He looks no older than 14, is he new? I cannot tell. We cycle through so many servants that I have long stopped trying to tell them apart. We tend to keep twenty servants around at any given time. The turnover is quite high, as Balekin has a tendency for neglect and a penchant for torture. Some of them also _mysteriously_ find their way back to the Mortal Realm with pockets full of gold.

Seeing the dazed boy does give me an idea. Since my brother is away, I can check on the servants and see if he already replaced the girl I sent back last week. So, I count. I walk the hallways, counting servants as I go. 

Eighteen.

I know for a fact that there were twenty last week before I freed the girl. Another one is missing. I survey the house again to see if I miscounted. Still eighteen. 

As I stand in front of a set of closed doors, I realize there is a room I have not checked.

I stare at the doors leading to the basement. I have only been down there a handful of times, when Balekin wanted to see if I had ‘toughened up’. The horrors that he did, that _I_ did, still haunted my dreams. I put a hand on the door and breathe in deeply, gathering the courage to open it. The phantom smell of mildew and bodily fluids awaiting me in the crypt floods my senses.

If the missing servant is down there, I would rather not know.

A coward through and through.

None of the servants pay me any mind as I walk to my room and close the door behind me. On a mannequin in the corner, I see the outfit I had commissioned for myself for the coronation. 

The image of the dress I pictured for Jude flashes in my mind again. How well it would match with my own. I sigh at the unwelcome thought. I can hear Balekin's voice in my head, _Romantic fool. You're a disgrace._

Still, I rummage through my drawers. I find the sketchbook the tailor has left for me to decide which outfit I preferred. In it, I find some unfinished sketches for dresses probably meant for my sisters. I grab paper and ink, then trace the general shape of one of them on the new sheet.

I am no artist, but with the help of the sketchbook, I manage to draw a half-decent sketch of what I have in mind. An ombré dress, dark blue to white, with the silhouette of a forest stitches around the skirt, climbing up a form-fitting bodice with a plunging neckline. 

I order a servant to call for the tailor, not trusting anyone to deliver the message and not leak the information. If the information was to get to either of my brothers, I would never hear the end of it. 

I sit at my desk, twirling my quill around my fingers as I wait. As Fae royalty, I grew up being told that human females are for breeding. Vessels to carry Fae children, since we are so unlikely to conceive. However, I was never one to think about children: why produce heirs if I will never ascend to the throne? I would rather be free of the responsibility of raising them (not that my parents did much of that). Even when I loved Nicasia, I never considered anything past a strategic marriage. I am not sure I am even capable of … loving that way. Unconditionally. There was never much of that in my family, either. Still, could this explain why I seem to lose all control where Jude is concerned? A biological need to find a human to keep the bloodline going. Is this why her sinful curves have been keeping me up every night since the everapple incident? Why I am unable to take other females to bed without thinking of her?

A knock at my door makes me jump and brings me back to reality. I look down at my desk and realize I have been writing as I daydreamed. 

**Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude.**

I quickly crumple the sheet of paper, aware that the fresh ink is going to stain my fingers, and call for the visitor to come in. The tailor enters and bows deeply.

“You asked to see me, Your Highness.”

This is stupid.

Why did I do this?

She will not even wear it.

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

You are too far down this path to back down.

I take my drawing and hand it to the dressmaker, trying my best to look overconfident.

“I would like to have this made for the coronation.”

She looks at the drawing and her brows rise slightly, but she catches herself quickly. “Yes, of course,” she puts the paper in her bag, “Shall I have it sent here?”

No. Absolutely not. “Send it to Madoc’s stronghold,” I pause for a moment, thinking of how dead I would be if Madoc (or Jude, for that matter) knew it came from me, “For Jude. Do not write who it came from.”

“Y-Your Highness, the general’s family already ordered their outfits,” she says, panicking, “I do not have the time to make two outfits.”

“Figure it out," I say as I wave her away. I cannot give myself time to second guess this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coronation chapter in the next few days!


	7. Looks like magic's solely yours tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coronation that Never Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from I Don't Feel Like Dancing - Scissor Sisters

The day of Dain’s coronation has come. I am expected to stand on the dais with my family and there is no way I will be sober for this. So I drank as I got dressed. I drank as a servant did my hair and I did my makeup. To my intoxicated eyes, it looks good.

When I get to the palace, I quickly scan the throne room for my friends. Locke and Nicasia are swirling around the dance floor together. Valerian is nowhere to be seen. Most importantly, I spot my most loyal friend tucked in the corner of the room: booze. I strut over to the drinks table and fill a glass to the brim with gold-flecked wine. I suspect I will have a glass of each kind of wine by the end of the day.

As I start sipping, no, guzzling my glass, I notice Taryn standing by herself a few meters away, shyly looking at the Folk dancing. She is clutching a small glass of dark red wine. I slide to her side and offer her my empty hand.

“If you want to dance, I will stop you before you dance yourself to death.”

The sound of my voice makes her jump. “Oh, apologies,” she stammers and bobs a curtsy, “Hello, Prince Cardan.”

She must have been lost deeply in her thoughts. I follow her gaze and see she is looking at Locke and Nicasia. I cannot help myself.

“Why do you let him play you?”

Taryn turns and squints at me suspiciously.

“We have an agreement.”

I raise a brow in interest, “Do you, now.”

She sighs.

“He says your kind does not love the way we do. But,” she gives me a tentative smile, “I think things will change today.”

It takes all my will not to roll my eyes. I do not think Locke plans on ending his game so abruptly.

I take Taryn's hand and kiss it. “Well, enjoy yourself.”

I drag a nearby Fae into a dance. I alternate between refilling my glass and spinning new partners across the dance floor until I spot  _ her _ and my breath catches.

Jude Duarte is dancing with Locke. She is wearing the dress I commissioned the tailor to make, her skirt a dark forest I would gladly get lost in. I have to remember to pay the tailor double, it is even more beautiful than what I had in mind. How can others look at anyone but her? 

I feel the cruel prince mask I keep on myself slipping. My gaze is focused on Jude, everyone and everything else a blur. The next thing I know, I am swaying across the dancefloor until I reach the dancing couple.

“Time to change partners,” I announce coldly, staring at Locke, “Oh, did I steal your line?”

I take Jude’s gloved hand and I am reminded of the other time I held her hand, cold and shaking while she stood almost naked in front of the whole class. Then, she was euphoric and giddy. Now, it is the real Jude who stands in front of me: mutinous and dangerous, though something else seems to cross her features… relief? This is the fierce Jude I see in my nightmares, my fantasies; not the submissive mess from that day.

“What do you want?” she snaps, “Go ahead. Insult me.”

I wish I could. Humiliating her used to be easy, when she was nothing more than an useless mortal I saw at school. Someone else to annoy for attention. 

“I don’t take commands from mortals,” I taunt. 

At least provocation still comes naturally. She does not look as angry as I expected her to.

“So you’re going to say something nice? I don’t think so. Faeries can’t lie.”

In another life, perhaps I would have written an ode to her beauty, to charm her and take her to bed. In this life, I am the unwanted Prince of Faerie, somehow both above and below her. Will I ever get an opportunity to be close to her again? The thought makes me slide my hands from her waist to her hips, savoring every moment of it.

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Do I want her to hate me? She must. Everyone does. Maybe if I hear her say it, I can get her out of my head… or maybe it will make me want her more. Sex and hate go so well together. 

“Almost as much as you hate me.”

I wish what I felt for her was only hate. Hate is the language I was raised with, it is all I know. What I feel for Jude is foreign to me. Lust? Definitely. Fear? Somewhat. Sprinkle on some kind of degenerate fascination. 

“Until we spar again.”

I bow, then disappear into the crowd to get another drink. I fill my glass with a pale greenish wine and down it in one gulp. I need more.

“Cardan,” a stern voice calls from behind me.

I freeze for a second, then pour myself another glass without looking. “Brother.”

Balekin puts a rough hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. I sway a little, dizzy, trying to keep to my feet.

“Pathetic,” he spits. For a moment, I am convinced he is going to slap me. He doesn’t. “Can’t you behave for once in your miserable life? You’re a disgrace.”

He takes my glass from my hand and sends it shattering on the floor. Some guests look at us, but quickly find something else to pay attention to. 

“Sober up and join us on the dais.”

I snort and make my way towards the dais. I trudge through the crowd, denser the closest I get to the front, until my boot catches on a root emerging from the mossy floor. In my drunken desperation, I grab at the nearest person’s clothes for balance and accidentally drag them down with me. 

I look up and see who I dragged down with me. The pitch black eyes of the girl I tumbled at Locke’s party are staring right at me from under a silver mask. I grin at her wickedly. She apologizes profusely, but once she sees my expression, she grins back at me. 

When we get up, I do not go towards the dais. We run, giggling foolishly, towards my father’s old cellars. Since most of the guards are posted around the main room, nobody stops me as I unlock the door leading to the wine cellar and help the girl down.

“Any preference?”, I purr as I browse the shelves. 

She shakes her head. I take out a bottle of a thick green liquid. It is a foul drink made with spruce needles and sap, but it packs quite a punch. I uncork the bottle and hand it to her with a wink.

She grimaces as she takes her first sip, some of it spilling down her chin as she tries to swallow it down. I laugh, then drag my tongue up her throat to catch the liquor. I reach her lips and she opens up for me, kissing me back passionately. I am so drunk that she looks exactly like Jude. My mind blurs her skin to look tan and smooth. I do not feel guilty for missing the coronation, this is wonderful. My family sees me as the prince of debauchery, and so I shall be. In one swift motion, I tear the top of her dress. She laughs as I pour liquor down her chest and drink it from between her breasts. 

When I lean down to take the bottle again, I tumble forward and pass out. 

* * *

I am dragged from unconsciousness by what feels like a sudden change in air pressure. The air is slightly more dense and harder to breathe. Even having never heard of this happening, I understand somewhat: my father has relinquished the Blood Crown. Elfhame is waiting for its new ruler to be crowned and I, its disappointment of a prince, is missing the coronation.


	8. A little death is better with somebody at your side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince, Chapter 21-22.  
> Title from Self control - Scissor Sisters

_Elfhame was waiting for its new ruler to be crowned and I, its disappointment of a prince, missed the coronation._

After the initial change in air pressure, the ground shakes, and I feel dread creep through my drunken numbness. I get to my feet. The girl I was with is gone. The fox mask she was wearing is still on the ground where it fell when we were making out. I pick it up and secure it to my face, hoping to get back in the throne room without anyone recognizing me.

As quickly as I can without looking conspicuous, I make my way out of the cellar and towards the ballroom. My mind is whirling, my vision is blurry, but I have to reach the throne room before my absence is noticed.

When I enter the room, I am greeted by absolute chaos. Knights are gathered around the throne. A bottleneck of folks from every court stretches from each possible exit as guards inspect everyone.

I approach a table closer to the dais and absentmindedly fill myself a goblet of wine as I crane my neck to look past the knights. There is blood everywhere. The throne looks weaker than it did a few minutes (hours?) ago, like its roots are not being nourished by the land anymore. The flowers that bloomed earlier are withered. But out of everything up there, that is the least alarming thing. Bodies upon bodies lay lifeless on the dais. My eyes catch on a heap of blue fabric stained red. Loyal Caelia, a bolt sticking out of her chest. Next to her, fierce Rhyia, with a knife in hand and a slit throat. Determined Elowyn, her gown covered in dried blood dripping from her neck. My sisters, barely more than strangers to me, slaughtered. I see other bodies nearby: guards, knights, a headless female, and my older brother Dain. 

This can’t possibly be real. Am I dreaming? Did another court attack when we were at our weakest? Is it a coup coming from our own people? I feel bile rising in my throat. 

I see no trace of my father. I scan the room for him, but my gaze catches on dark navy fabric coming out from under a banquet table.

No, no no no no no. Anybody but her. 

_The Grand General came back to Elfhame last night and my father threw a ball in his honor. Madoc is holding a child’s arm forcefully as he toasts with the soldiers. She is fae, a year or two older than me. But she is not the only child he brought back. Two other girls came to the ball with him, but he is not parading them around like he is doing with the older girl. They are standing alone in the corner of the room, as far away from anyone else as possible._

_I look at my father. He is toasting with the general, courtiers at his arm. I look at my mother. She is dancing with a Lord from another court. They have not so much as looked at me in weeks. I found the revel by accident, roaming the halls of the palace in an attempt to find something to eat._

_I run towards the new girls. They look like copies of each other - brown hair and brown eyes, tan skin, frail little things. They are both wearing ill-fitting beige dresses, as if whoever dressed them did not know what to wear for a ball._

_“Are you servants?” I ask when I reach them._

_“No,” they answer together._

_“You look like servants. Fetch me food.”_

_I make to grab for one of them, but she backs up before I can. They run away and I run after them. They duck under a table, as if I couldn’t see them._

_I lift the tablecloth and smile. They try to back away, but the table is set against a wall, trapping them. I grab one of them by the hair and drag her out from under the table. I pin her to the ground by the wrist. I move her hair away from her ears._

_“Human! You’re human!” I exclaim with glee, “Maybe I’ll eat_ you _.”_

_Someone pulls my hair and forces me away from her._

_“Leave my sister alone!”_

_I whirl on the second girl. I bite the arm holding my hair. She lets go of my hair with a startled scream, but she starts punching me in the chest._

_“Jude, stop this right now.” Madoc’s strong voice echoes through the room._

_The girl freezes, eyes wide with fear. She gets up._

_“Your Majesty, forgive her,” the Grand General tells my father, “She does not know how to behave around royalty yet.”_

_My father waves a hand in dismissal, unbothered. I look at the girl, Jude. She’s staring at me fiercely, a silent promise of violence._

I bolt towards the table. The pressure in my chest slackens when I see the fabric shift. She is alive. I reach under the table and grab her arm.

“You’re mortal,” I say, as if it wasn’t obvious. My eyes dart to the knife in her hand, then back at her face, “It’s not safe for you here. Especially if you go around stabbing everyone.”

“Not safe for _me_?” she snarls, “Get down here before you’re recognized.”

Why would it matter? Surely, nobody would think of me as a threat to their coup.

“Playing hide-and-seek under the table? Crouching in the dirt?” I laugh, unable to keep my composure and hide my anxiousness, “Typical of your kind, but far beneath my dignity.”

Suddenly, she throws her arm forward and punches me in the stomach.

“Ow!”

Jude drags me under the table with her. Sure, I had imagined us hiding under tables before, but I never imagined it being to avoid being murdered.

“We’ll get out of here without anyone noticing,” she whispers, “We stay under the tables and make our way to the steps to the upper levels of the palace. And don’t tell me it’s beneath your dignity to crawl. You’re so drunk you can barely stand anyway.”

I snort, “If you insist.”

As we make our way, through the music and wild laughter of rowdy guests, I hear snippets of conversation, allowing me to put the pieces together. Balekin is alive and looking for me, Madoc killed Dain, my father is dead.

My father is dead.

I look at the signet ring on my finger, the proof of my royal blood.

“He despised me.”

Would my father have crowned _me_ , if all my other siblings were dead? Would he have crowned me before he crowned Balekin? I doubt it. He would rather keep the crown, knowing as I do that my reign would doom Elfhame. Yet, I will mourn him. 

“Balekin?”

Another disdainful snort, “My father. I didn’t much know the others, my brothers and sisters. Isn’t that funny? Prince Dain- he didn’t want me in the palace, so he forced me out.”

Dain is the only one I will not mourn. He put me at Balekin's mercy knowingly. Brought me down to raise himself up. If I am Prince Failure, he was Prince Perfect, the High King's pride.

“And now they’re all dead. Thanks to Madoc. Our honorable general. They never should have trusted him. But your mother discovered that a long time ago, didn’t she?”

Cruelty and laughter. My only weapons against fear, against the reality of being the last one alive to crown Balekin. He will hunt me down, force me to crown him. Will Jude bring me to him directly? She is Madoc's ward, after all. She might just bring me straight to her father, who will gladly give me over.

“Crawl," Jude blurts out.

A shiver went from the tip of my tail to the top of my spine. In my most indulgent fantasies, I am the one ordering her to crawl. In my worst nightmares, it's the other way around. Once again, I have the impression that nothing about this is real. Still, I can’t help but smirk. 

“You first.” 

Fighting with her, teasing her, humiliating her. It all comes so naturally to me, and I am willing to bet it does to her too.

We move from table to table, until we are close to the steps leading out of the hall. I lift the tablecloth and exit first, then offer her my hand. She does not take it.

Jude makes to go towards the steps, but I stop her. 

“Not like that. Your father’s knights will recognize you.”

Her fierce gaze narrows, “I’m not the one they’re looking for.”

I frown under my mask. 

“If they see your face, they may pay too much attention to whom you’re with.”

“If they knew me at all, they’d know I’d never be with you.”

And yet. She sighs, then takes the pins out of her braids and lets her hair loose. She ruffles her hair. I am taken aback, unable to stop staring.

“You look…”

Mortal. _Lusty_ . Obscene. _Untamed_ . Filthy. _Gorgeous_. 

“Give me a second.”

Thankfully, she leaves before I can finish my thought. The dress I designed, her menacing attitude, the hair. It’s all too much, too close to my fantasies. _Cardan, you pathetic wretch. Your family was slaughtered and you think about banging a mortal._ I grab a bottle of green wine from the table and guzzle it down while she is gone. When she comes back, she is wearing a mask like I am.

“Come on,” she grunts as she drags me towards the guards watching the steps.

“Look elsewhere for your pleasure,” one of them says authoritatively, “This is the way to the palace, and it is barred to common Folk.”

Who is he calling _common_?

“We will do as we are bid,” Jude replies submissively as she tugs me away. I stand my ground.

“You are much mistaken in us,” I reply with a saccharine smile. 

If nothing else, sweet-talking is my forte. 

“The High King Balekin is a friend to my lady’s Court,” I drawl as I slide my signet ring off of my finger, “You may have heard of Queen Gliten in the Northwest. Balekin sent a message about the missing prince. He is waiting for an answer.”

“I don’t suppose you have any proof of that?”

“Of course,” I reply as I hold out the ring, “I was given this token so you would know me.”

They step back. Half-truth, the language of the court. I smile and grab Jude’s arm, dragging her eagerly up the steps.

“What about the mortal?” one guard inquires.

“Oh, well, you aren’t _entirely_ mistaken in me. I intended to keep some of the delights of the revel for myself,” I give them a knowing smirk.

I guide her up the steps, then unlock the door to the upper level of the palace. As soon as we enter the empty hall, I hear the lock turn. Confused, I turn towards her, only to see her point a dagger at my face. She presses it under my chin and I stiffen.

“Jude?”

“Surprised?” she grins at me, fire and hatred burning in her earthy eyes, “You shouldn’t be.”

She presses the knife deeper and I feel the sharp blade resting against my skin. Not a nightmare, then. Real.

“Why?”, I try to sound bored but it comes out more like a whine.

“Because your luck is terrible and mine is great. Do what I say and I’ll delay the pleasure of hurting you.”

My luck _is_ terrible. My tormentor stands closer than she ever has, but I am not the one holding the blade to her throat. I feel shame wash over me as my blood rushes south at the thought of her pushing that blade deeper.

“Planning to spill a little more royal blood tonight?” I sneer as I try to wiggle my way out of her grasp, “Feeling left out of the slaughter?”

“You’re drunk.”

An obvious statement, I guess, to mirror the one I made earlier about her mortality. I lean my head back against the stone wall and close my eyes. I cannot bear to look at her, determined and deadly, cunning little mortal.

“Oh, indeed," I scoff, “But do you really believe I am going to let you parade me in front of the General, as though I am some lowly—” 

She presses the knife harder to my throat. I swallow.

"Of course," I laugh nervously, “I was passed out cold while my family was murdered; it’s hard to fall more lowly than that.”

“Stop talking. Move.”

“Or what? You’re not really going to stab me.”

I kind of wish she would. 

“When was the last time you saw your dear friend Valerian? Not today, despite the insult implied by his absence. Did you wonder at that?”

My eyes fly open. Valerian’s presence is definitely not one I missed, but I did wonder where he was. It is unlike him to miss a revel, especially one with such bloodshed. I stare at Jude, trying to find the answer to this riddle she just posed in her eyes. She gives nothing away. 

“I did. Where is he?”

“Rotting near Madoc’s stables. I killed him, then I buried him,” she boasts, a vicious smile on her face, “So believe me when I threaten you. No matter how unlikely it seems, you are the most important person in all of Faerie. Whosoever has you, has power. And I want power.”

I blink a few times. She… killed him? I knew she hated him, hated _us_. But I never imagined her going out of her way to find him and murder him. No matter how much he deserved it. 

“I suppose you were right after all,” I say in disbelief, “I suppose I didn’t know the least of what you could do.”

“Time to move,” she cuts in, “Go to the first door and open it. When we’re inside, we’re going to the closet. There’s a passageway through there.”

“Yes, fine,” I bark back at her.

It’s humiliating that Jude, of all people, knows this palace better than I do. I put my hand between the knife and my throat to push it away, but she holds it and it cuts my fingers.

Shit.

I put a bleeding finger to my mouth. “What was that for?”

“For fun,” she croons, then lowers the dagger.

She pushes me forward. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“No. Now move.”

I go to the first room and immediately spot the closet. I open it, then I look back at her. She is still holding that damned dagger, her eyes burning holes in my back.

I crawl in reluctantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this a lot earlier, but the 6-days work week I just did absolutely killed me.
> 
> This chapter feels more like a re-telling of the book than I want this fanfic to be, but I didn't know how else to treat it. Hope you liked it anyway! :D


	9. Tomorrow's not what it used to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the time Cardan spends in the Court of Shadow when Jude is off to Madoc's Stronghold.  
> Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince Ch. 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depressive thoughts? Kind of?  
> A part of Cardan that always interested me is how he begged for his life when Jude kidnapped him, since he does not strike me as someone who really likes his life. So this chapter was born out of that. I just want to make sure not to trigger anybody, so skip it if you think it can trigger you. 🖤
> 
> Surprisingly still not running out of lyrics for titles. Title from my fave Scissor Sister song: Intermission.

Seeing Jude with the other spies from Dain’s little circle had been strange, like seeing a whole different side of her. She was not just the human girl haunting my dreams and sparring with me in my waking hours. I want to see more of this scheming side of her, and the fear that I might not live to do so was growing in me. 

One day and one night. What will happen afterwards? If Jude does not come back, they kill me. If she comes back with Madoc, they kill me. If Jude comes back alone, she might just decide to kill me too.

I don’t want to die. Not because my life is great - so far, it has been terrible. A life filled with abuse and neglect that I drown with extravagance. There was a time when I would not let myself think of my immortality. I remember entertaining the idea of  _ ceasing _ . Immortality seemed long and tiresome, and I was unable to imagine life getting any better. In the last few months, however, my perspective shifted. I still craved attention, I doubt this would ever change, but I started doing things without expecting recognition. Standing up when my friends went too far, freeing mortal servants and putting food aside for some of them. I am not trying to make up for my cruelty. Simply, doing these things my brothers would disapprove of feels cathartic.

Nowadays, whenever I think of dying, I think of how useless all of this would have been. I have survived plenty, it would be a shame for it to end here. I want to do more. I  _ want _ . I surprised even myself when I begged Jude and her trio of spies not to kill me, when I promised them gold and position in court... things I could not actually give them. 

_ Too young, too weak, too mean. _

It hurts more than it ought to. The words echo in my head as I sit alone, tied to a chair in Dain’s office. I am getting too sober for this.

“Hey,” I say, but get no answer. I try louder, “Hey!”

“Shut it, princeling,” the female replies from the other room, “We don’t want to have to kill you until tomorrow.”

“I want a drink,” I reply, ignoring the threat.

“We’re not paid enough to share with royalty.”

“Will we even get paid now that the boss is dead?” one of the males wonders.

“I know where to get the good stuff,” I say cockily, “But I’ll only tell you if you let me drink with you.”

A shape comes out from the shadows of the room I’m in, startling me. If I was not tied up, I probably would have fallen off of my chair. I didn’t know he was here, but I guess I should not have expected anything else from Dain’s prized assassin. The half-fae only nodded.

“So, you’ll get me wine?” I ask him.

He nods again. I give him directions to the wine cellar, the same I passed out in mere hours ago. I don’t bother telling him to take my keys, knowing he can easily just pick the lock. 

When he leaves, the other two spies enter my room. The dark-skinned girl came behind me and tugged on the rope restraining my wrists and let out an appreciative whistle.

“She’s not messing around, is she?” she muses, “So, what will you offer us if we untie your hands?”

I raise an eyebrow. They really do not want to make this easy for me. “I can tell you where my sisters keep their jewels.”

“Do tell.”

I tell her. Like the assassin, the green-skinned spy leaves to get the treasure. I am left with the girl. She drags my chair to the main room with her, and we wait for the other two to come back.

* * *

The green-skinned fae comes back first, carrying a chest full of jewels. He’s beaming. I would not be surprised if he filled a tub with the jewels and swam in it. 

“Well, well, he did not lie,” the girl who introduced herself as the Bomb says.

She takes out a blade and cuts the ties restraining my wrists.

“Why would I lie? You might be able to convince Jude not to kill me.”

“She did not seem pleased with the idea of killing you,” the blonde assassin says as he comes out of the shadows, hands full of as many bottles of very expensive wine as he could carry. He puts them on the table and uncorks four bottles.

“We have a… complicated relationship,” I say, letting them interpret this however they want, “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

The Bomb raises a brow while the green-skinned one snorts.

"Well," she says as she holds out a bottle for me, "to complicated relationships."

She clinks her bottle against mine and takes a swig.

* * *

I have been playing cards with the Roach, the Ghost and the Bomb for hours. They are actually quite fun to be around. They took turns to go grab more bottles from the cellar whenever we started to run low.

I am contemplating the bad hand I was dealt when I hear the door open. 

“Jude!” the Bomb exclaims, “Sit down! We’ll deal you in.”

She came back alone. No Balekin, no Madoc. I grin at her, but she does not look pleased.

“What are you doing? He’s supposed to be tied up! He’s our  _ prisoner _ .”

“Worry not. Where’s he going to go?” asks the Roach, “You really think he can get past all three of us?”

“I don’t mind being one-handed,” I drawl, pausing to take a swig of my bottle, “But if you’re going to restrain both of my hands, then you’ll have to pour the wine directly into my mouth.”

The Bomb tells her about the jewels and where we got the bottles from, but I barely register, all my attention examining Jude. She is seething, I can see it by the lines in her face, the way her brows twitch slightly. 

“Everything is spiraling into chaos anyway, might as well have some fun. Don’t you think, Jude?” I tease, loving the way her name feels on my tongue.

I know I should be trying to calm her down, but I’m so good at riling her up. 

“What did he offer you?” she asks, completely ignoring my teasing. 

_ Play with me, Jude _ , I think. 

The Ghost smiles, “Mostly gold, but also power. Position.”

“A lot of things he hasn’t got,” the Bomb retorts. 

I pretend to be offended, clutching at my chest, “I thought we were friends.”

Jude rolls her eyes and put her hand on my chair. “I’m going to take him to the back.”

Dread climbs up my spine and I have never been more glad that my tail is tucked away, hiding the nervous undulations I cannot control.

“And do what?” The Roach asks.

“He’s  _ my _ prisoner,” Jude sneers and I smile at the possessiveness. Then she kneels to cut my legs free and my smile widens.

“Can’t we stay out here? There’s wine out here,” I whine as I try to grab a bottle. She swats my hand away.

The Roach laughs, “Something bothering you, princeling? You and Jude don’t get along after all?”

Did he really have to say that in front of her? Urgh. Nevertheless, Jude does not seem to catch on, and she leads me back to her interrogation room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is THE kiss


	10. You can never run from trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🚨Simping alert🚨  
> Hell yeah folks, this is the kiss chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Lights - Scissor Sisters  
> Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince Chapter 25-26.

I knew Jude’s interrogation would not be a great time for me. What I was not expecting, however, was how absolutely terrified I was. She is  _ scary _ , and I was so discomposed that I told her so. Even without the weapon, I probably would have told her anything she asked. The questions about Locke and Valerian were fine, but things escalated quickly. Everything started going downhill when she asked about a paper she found with her name written all over it. Questions about Nicasia and my feelings for her - as if I wasn’t being vulnerable enough already. 

Soon enough, Jude asks the worst question of all.

“Just tell me why you hate me. Once and for all.”

I cannot seem to keep still, my fingers follow the grooves of Dain’s desk. 

“You really want honesty?” I ask her, not that I have much of a choice than to tell the truth. I hope she will just take her question back.

“I am the one with the crossbow, not shooting you because you promised me answers. What do you think?”

“Very well,” it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at the continuous threats, “I hate you because your father loves you even though you’re a human brat born to his unfaithful wife, while mine never cared for me, though I am a prince of Faerie. I hate you because you don’t have a brother who beats you. And I hate you because Locke used you and your sister to make Nicasia cry after he stole her from me. Besides which, after the tournament, Balekin never failed to throw you in my face as the mortal who could best me.”

I hold her stare. Her face betrays nothing, it’s as if she is not in the least surprised about any of it.

“Is that all? Because it’s ridiculous. You can’t be jealous of me. You don’t have to live at the sufferance of the same person who murdered your parents. You don’t have to stay angry because if you don’t, there’s a bottomless well of fear ready to open up under you.”

This is the Jude I am the most familiar with, angry, defiant and mind-numbingly clueless. Technically, I now live with the person who murdered my father. Is she so blind as to not see how scared I am, this very moment? How angry I am, at Madoc, at Balekin, at myself? 

“Oh, really?” I sneer, “I don’t know about being angry? I don’t know about being afraid? You’re not the one bargaining for your life.”

“That’s really why you hate me? Only that? There’s no better reason?”

I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. To expose my weakness, to Jude of all people, terrifies me. 

“Well?” she impatiently lifts the crossbow, “Tell me!”

“Most of all,” I close my eyes, unable to look at her as I reveal my biggest, dirtiest secret, “I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.”

You would think that telling her would lift the weight off my shoulders. It does not—it feels like I am a target, and the bullseye just got larger, easier to hit. 

She does not answer. I try to cover my face with my hand to hide my shame. 

“Maybe you should shoot me after all.”

“You’re playing me,” she finally replies.

I do not look at her. I can’t. I hear her put the crossbow down on the table, I guess she does not want to give me a quick death. My suspicions are confirmed when Jude puts the point of a knife to my chin and lifts my head to look at her. At first, I try to look away, but I eventually meet her eyes. I know she can read me like an open book, the shame, the want, the fear, and she relishes in it. I think of begging her for mercy, to make it quick. She leans towards me and I have never in my life wanted to sink in the floor as much as I do now. My eyes are wide with confusion. As I smell her iron and wraithberry scent, I am reminded of the realization I had long ago: she is my forbidden fruit. I unconsciously part my lips, ready to bite in and seal my fate.

“You really do want me,” my torturer croons, “and you  _ hate _ it.”

She shifts the blade to put the sharp edge against my neck. I stay still. She has already humiliated me enough, I will greet death with my chin held high.

I wait for the killing blow, but it does not come. Instead, Jude closes the distance between us and kisses me.

I thought my imagination was grand, yet I was not prepared for this. How her soft lips feel against mine, how little I notice her inexperience. I stifle a moan and close my eyes, willing myself to enjoy what I am now convinced to be my last few breaths. 

I carefully slide my hands up her arms. I can feel her strong muscles under the soft skin of her biceps, the small bumps rising from her skin following my touch.

One of my hands snakes down to her waist and pulls her closer, on top of me, while the other tangles in her hair. 

Her lips part and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Our teeth and tongues clash in a desperate dance and I get my first taste of poison. A rational man would stop then, her warning signal enough to keep him away. But a starved man would consider eating poisonous food, if not only to die with the comfort of a full stomach.

_ Clank. _ I pull away, letting go of her. I had completely forgotten about the knife at my throat and now it's lying on the table. Is she not going to kill me? I laugh awkwardly.

“Is that what you imagined?”

I imagined a lot of things, but never her putting a knife to my throat.

“No."

“Tell me," she orders.

I shake my head. 

“Unless you’re really going to stab me, I think I won’t. And I might not tell you even if you were going to stab me.”

Jude gets on Dain’s desk. It looks like she’s trying not to smile. It angers me that she thinks something about this is funny, when I have been nothing but honest and unguarded.

“I am going to make a proposal," I tell her, "I don’t want to put the crown on Balekin’s head just to lose mine. Ask whatever you want for yourself, for the court of shadows, but ask something for me. Get him to give me lands far from here. Tell him I will be gloriously irresponsible, far from his side. He never needs to think of me again. He can sire some brat to be his heir and pass the High Crown to it. Or perhaps it will slit his throat, a new family tradition. I care not.”

“Get up.”

“So you’re not worried I’m going to run for it?”

I get up and stretch my legs.

“After our kiss, I am such a fool over you that I can hardly contain myself," she drawls and I feel my heart twist in my chest, "All I want to do is nice things that make you happy. Sure, I’ll make whatever bargain you want, so long as you kiss me again. Go ahead and run. I definitely won’t shoot you in the back.”

I thought she was sincere at first, but I should have known better. Nothing true ever comes out of her lying mouth. I do not know what to say, so I just say my truth.

“Hearing you lie outright is a bit disconcerting.”

“Then let me tell you the truth. You’re not going to run because you’ve got nowhere to go.”

Jude leaves the room, and I go back to the table where I was playing cards earlier. I pick up the deck of cards and start shuffling mindlessly, keeping my eyes on her as she leaves the hideout.

She is right. I have nowhere to go. I have no home, only a room in my tormenter's mansion. Even as I picture a new life far from the palace, it does not feel like home. I try to imagine a palace all for myself, where I throw parties and drink until the sun rises, where I am surrounded by females who worship me, where people laugh at my jokes and admire me. It feels as lonely as my life here.

I close my eyes and try to focus on  _ home _ .

The mansion disappears. Instead, I lay in a spacious bed, in a luxuriously decorated room. I know it to be  _ my _ room, even if I have never seen this room in my life. On my right, I see an open closet filled with extravagant clothes, clearly mine. As I look to the left, I realize I am not alone in this room.

Jude is sitting by the window, moonlight casting light on the dagger she is polishing.

I throw the deck or cards on the desk and get up with a groan. I know the spies are staring, but I don't care. I storm back to Dain's office and sit on the chair I had been tied to. Jude took her knife and crossbow back, but the dent the knife made in the table is still there. I run my fingers over it.

The kiss has completely ruined me. 

I want to taste her again, taste every inch of her skin. I want to know if she tastes different than faeries.

I want her mouth on me, her nails digging in my back making new scars over the old ones. 

I want her to keep that dagger to my throat and use me until she grows bored of me.

I want her hands wrapped around my throat.

I want her to deny me until I beg for release.

I am thoroughly depraved.

The moment she put that knife to my throat, I knew that what I felt for her was not fear. A little bit of fear, sure, but it was different from what I felt when Balekin removed his belt. 

It wasn't mere hate, either. Up until now, my fantasies of Jude were always ones where I had the power, putting her down for the way she humiliated me time and time again.

_ Our kind does not love the way yours do _ , Locke had told Taryn.

He was wrong.

What I thought was mere lust-fueled infatuation is in fact something much, much more dangerous. 

I am in love with Jude Duarte.


	11. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taking me quite a while to write Cardan's "coronation" so I wrote some drabbles in the meantime. 🖤 Worry not though, I am working on it!

I never thought Jude Duarte would have any use for me. When she offered the oath to me, I initially wanted to refuse. The idea was outrageous. A Prince of Faerie, under the command of some scheming mortal. Binding myself to her, as if I were the one able to lie and betray. As if I were a menace to anybody.

Nevertheless, I accepted. Asking her for the control of Hollow Hall and everything- most importantly, everyone- inside gave me something more. Something I have always craved, something that has been missing in my life for so long.

Purpose.

* * *

I am bound to a mortal girl, yet I have never felt so free. Lying in the grass and looking at the stars, I daydream about what life would be like a year and a day from now.  _ Not for one minute more _ . 

Jude sits next to me and I turn to her. As I recite my knowledge of the lower courts, I cannot help but reach to her. Her hair falls in a way that exposes her ear, its soft curve calling to me. I trace the outline of it until I see her flinch and I quickly pull away.

* * *

My taste for extravagance had always been something my siblings mocked me for. They would say I try too hard, that I want attention. Of course I did. Who wouldn’t? Now, I stand in front of the mirror in the clothes the Court of Shadow had someone tailor to my frame. The pale suit is vapid and I do not have access to any accessories to improve it. No makeup to give flair to my outfit. My ears look bare and my fingers feel light without my rings.

I might try too hard, but Dain should have tried harder.


	12. I believe in days ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes dialogue from Chapter 29 of The Cruel Prince  
> Title from Mary - Scissor Sisters

Soon, it will be over. Balekin will be out of my life. The Grand General will watch over Elfhame until little Oak is of age, and I will be far, far away from this palace. 

If I never see Jude again, perhaps she will stop invading my every thought.

Still, as I walk into Hollow Hall with her arm tucked into mine, I feel as though, together, we could overcome any obstacle. I feel pride. I relish in the baffled looks of the Gentry, not caring if they are more surprised by their lesser prince being with a mortal or by me actually being here.

Jude is dazzling in her green gown, enough that I forget my own vanity. It matters not that the borrowed outfit I am wearing is drab, long as I am next to her. 

Amongst the gathered folk, the biggest vulture of them all spots me. I gracefully maneuver Jude towards the refreshments table, needing the wine to ground me as I face my brother. 

“Little brother,” Balekin says as he catches up to us, “I’ve sought high and low for you.”

I am convinced my eldest brother knows the effect he has on me. In his presence, I feel small. I am back to being the young boy who got kicked out of the palace by his other brother, vulnerable, wanting nothing more than to be accepted by someone, _anyone_.

I look at the drinks table, seeking something stronger than wine to burn my throat and keep me from spiraling.

“Doubtless so,” I reply with a cocky smile, “I turned out to be useful after all. What a terrible surprise.”

A battle of smiles and stares ensues. I refuse to lose. He won’t hurt me, right? He cannot. He _needs_ me, and he needs me willing.

“And you,” he says, turning to Jude, “What have you to do with this? Leave us.”

I hope my panic does not show on my face. My mind races, trying to find an excuse to keep Jude around, when Madoc comes to stand next to his new ally. 

“Jude, you found him,” he says as he puts a hand on Jude’s shoulder. He turns to Balekin, “I hope you’re intending to reward my daughter. I am sure it took no small amount of persuasion to bring him here.”

Madoc's fingers dig slightly in Jude's shoulder. By the way Jude stiffens slightly, I know his touch to be more controlling than paternal. Still, has my father ever even touched me? I cannot remember.

“I will give her anything she asks for and more,” Balekin replies, as if I were nothing more than a lost pet given back to his master.

Jude pours two glasses of wine. I reach for one of them, but she gives the second one to Madoc. They clink their glasses together and drink. It’s the first time I have ever seen Jude drink.

I pour a glass of red wine for myself and drink the whole thing in one go.

“Take the bottle, I am prepared to be very generous,” Balekin tells me, “Let us discuss what you’d like, whatever you’d like.”

I have a feeling that if I were to leave with him, our _discussion_ would be quite one-sided. “There’s no hurry, is there?”

“I think everyone would like to see the matter settled,” he replies coldly.

He speaks with that voice he uses when we are alone in his office. I will my face to keep the mask of indifference.

“Nonetheless,” I say before taking the bottle and sipping from its neck, “we have all night.”

“The power is in your hands.”

I clench my jaw ever so slightly. 

“After dinner, I will tell you my terms. But until then, I am going to enjoy the party.”

“I do not have endless patience.”

“Cultivate it,” I say with a small bow as I drag Jude away from both men.

I make towards the dining table, but I am stopped by delicate, blue-ish fingers.

“Where have you been?” Nicasia inquires.

The princess of the Undersea considers us with a look, wincing at our linked arms.

“Jude here made me her prisoner,” I say softly with a smile, “She ties very tight knots.”

“Good thing you finally managed to slip her bonds,” she replies.

I raise my brows. “Did I?” _Do I even want to?_

“Must you be like this, even now?”

Even if she betrayed me, I do not want her to worry. Not for me, not for anyone. And I do not want anything to happen to her. She puts her hand on my arm.

“Nicasia,” I say as I shrug her hand off, “Stay away from me tonight. For your own sake.”

I tug Jude away, ignoring the look Nicasia gives her. I feel a sick kind of satisfaction at her blatant jealousy. She traded me after I offered her everything, let her feel as low as I felt.

Across the room, Taryn and Locke are staring at us. I hold Locke’s stare for a few seconds, and he does not look away. The childish part of me is tempted to stick out my tongue at him, but I settle for a wink.

“Part one completed,” Jude whispers, “We got here, got in, and are not yet in chains.”

“Yes, I believe the Roach called that ‘the easy bit’.”

Jude lets go of my arm.

"Don't go anywhere alone," she reminds me as she leaves my side.

Not a command, but it stings all the same. I nod at her and give her a forced smile. I wish the plan did not include 'leaving Cardan to fend for himself'. 

It does not take long for the vulture to find me. On cue, Balekin grabs my arm and pulls me along.

"Come, little brother," he says tightly, "let's have a talk."

He starts dragging me towards the room behind the throne. _Shit_. Where did Jude go? She must have known this would happen. Maybe Locke could help me, but he is way too far.

Then, I spot my salvation. Long, curling horns over a mop of brown hair. The exiled Alderking's son, Severin. I make a B-line towards him and start making small talk. How do you like it here? I hope the food is to your liking! Yes, it is a shame about my siblings. Dull, boring talk in the hopes that he will stay to chat for a while and not leave me alone with Balekin. When I fear the conversation starts to run dry, my brother eagerly joins in.

"It seems, Lord Severin, that we have a lot in common," my brother says.

"How so?" Severin asks.

"Certainly not for our choice in consorts," Balekin scoffs.

I laugh. It's not funny. Balekin's disgust for mortals does not seem funny for the Alderking's son either, who just stares at him blankly.

"Both of our fathers died and passed the crown to us," Balekin tightens his grip on my arm, "Perhaps you can teach me how you dealt with your grief and the responsibility of a new kingdom."

"Perhaps," Severin replies coldly.

Soon, too soon, we are interrupted by one of Severin's knights, the red-haired mortal girl.

"Seve—", she catches herself, "My Lord, we have an... issue. Ben is drunk, and it seems his singing has gathered quite the crowd."

I watch as Severin's eyes widen and excuses himself, following his knight. Once again, I am left alone with Balekin. The perfect opportunity for my brother to resume his threats. He grabs my wrist in his thorny palm.

"Have you enjoyed the party enough yet?" he growls.

"I remember saying _after dinner_ ," I retort with more confidence than I feel, "Perhaps I should also start serenading our guests."

"Careful, Cardan. I would rather have you willing, but I have ways to force your hand. I need you alive, not whole."

I tighten my hold on my bottle to hide my trembling hands. Jude would have a plan. I am not Jude. My usual technique, cruelty, does not work on the person after whom I have modeled it.

Thankfully, I do not need a plan as someone drapes their arm around my shoulders.

"There you are," Locke exclaims, "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

Balekin tightens his hold on my wrist, "Yes, he has made himself… hard to get ahold of."

"I go where the wine is," I hold my bottle up as proof and drain the rest of it, "Surely, you remember Locke, brother. He joined me in many of your delightful revels."

"Delightful they were," Locke praises.

"Will you forgive us, Balekin? It seems I have already finished my drink."

He jerked me towards him and hissed in my ear, "Don't try to run."

"Where would I even go? I _live_ here," I remind him, "I will talk to you after dinner."

He lets me go and I drag Locke towards the refreshments, glad for an excuse to get away. It has been months since I last enjoyed Locke's presence, but his presence is definitely more appreciated than a beating from my brother.

I grab another full bottle, not bothering with a glass.

"I saw you arrive," Locke says with an insinuating grin, "quite a statement you are making."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Entering your brother's coronation, a mortal girl on your arm. It seems we once again share a lover."

He is trying to provoke me, or so I think. Does he want us to fight here? When I do not reply, he continues his mockery.

"How is she? I can only assume you two have been tumbling since I last saw of you."

"Surprising," I say, spinning a false narrative of half-truths, "very creative in her use of accessories."

Locke raises a brow. He bought it. Good. After all, I learned to create falsehoods from the best: him. At the dining table, I see people are starting to sit down. I excuse myself and go take a seat at the table.

* * *

There is a lump in my throat. Have I been poisoned? It is entirely possible, seeing the quantity of alcohol I have imbibed without even testing it first, taking whatever bottle I can get my hands on. When I finally see Jude, I realize with dread that I was worried. She slips next to me as if everything was normal.

“There you are, how has the night been going for you?” I ask her as I watch the servant refill my cup with dark green wine, “Mine has been full of dull conversation about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.”

I grab my cup and lean back in my chair, watching the wine swirl and its golden specks glitter in the light. She does not answer me. Fine, then. 

“Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?”

“No,” she says coldly, “Tell me.”

I turn my gaze to her. I expected her to get angry, scoff or straight up ignore me. I wanted to provoke her-I certainly was not planning on actually telling her. Of course, looking at her, the lie dries in my throat. 

“I cannot," I tilt my head to the side and frown. “Jude?” 

Her makeup is still perfect, even with the light sheen of sweat coating her forehead. But there, on her jaw, a purplish discoloration. I clamp my hands under the table to prevent from reaching to it.

“There’s a bruise coming up on your jaw.”

“I’m fine," she snaps back.

Around the table, everyone is seated. Soon enough, Balekin gets up for a toast and I brace for the explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the coronation in half since it's taking me so long to write, but I'm almost done with the second half. :) I love reading your comments, thank you for the feedback!


	13. That face will be revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes dialogue from Chapter 29 of The Cruel Prince  
> Title from Lights - Scissor Sisters

Balekin gets up from his seat at the head of the table. He raises his glass for a toast and I brace myself. I know this is the signal. Yet, I still yelp as the explosives go off.

Jude immediately gets up. I force myself to stay still, knowing the Roach is aiming at me. Still I flinch when the first bolt lands in front of me—at least I am making it look real.

Before the second bolt can find its way to me, my world tilts and I am on the floor.  _ Not part of the plan _ .

It is then I see who is standing over me, shielding my body with his own. My oldest brother, my abuser, my only living sibling, the only person who ever cared for me. I am too stunned to do anything, to say anything. Just like this, I am transported back to the stables I used to sleep in, exiled from the palace for a crime I did not commit. A scared, angry princeling whose oldest brother sheltered, saving him from spending more nights sleeping through the grunts of animals and swatting at flies.

When Balekin gets up, I push myself up as well. Taryn is holding the crown and I understand someone mistook her for Jude. With fear written all over her face, I wonder how anyone could make that mistake. Jude would keep her chin up even when faced with the most vicious of monsters.

“Child, if you do not give that to me, I will cut you in half,” Balekin threatens, hand tightening over the pommel of his sword, “I will be the High King, and when I am, I will punish any who inconvenienced me.”

The word  _ punish _ sends a chill down my spine. Will I be the first punished, for hiding from him? If I crown him, would he spare me?

I can see Taryn looking between my brother and Vivienne. Her hands are tightly gripping the crown, obviously trembling.

“Give me my crown," Balekin growls.

He takes a step towards her, but someone puts a hand to his chest to stop him.

"Wait," Lord Roiben of the Court of Termites orders.

Balekin tries to push Roiben, in vain, and I see The Ghost's crossbow follow his movements, ready to shoot if he tries to hurt the lower Lord. Off to the side, Queen Orlagh is watching. Thankfully, Nicasia seems to have followed my advice and is nowhere to be seen.

“She’s only a mortal girl," Balekin says, as if the excuse would turn any faerie to his side.

Roiben does not budge.

“This is a lovely banquet, Balekin, son of Eldred. But sadly lacking in amusements before now," Queen Orlagh drawls, "Let this be our entertainment. After all, the crown is secure in this room, is it not? And you or your younger brother are the only ones who can wear it. Let the girl choose whom she will give it to. What does it matter, if neither of you will crown the other?"

“This is ridiculous. What of the explosion? Didn’t that entertain you sufficiently?”

"It certainly piqued  _ my _ interest," Roiben replies, arching a pale brow, "You seem to have lost your general somewhere as well. Your rule hasn’t even formally begun, but it certainly appears chaotic."

Jude walks to her twin and reaches out, but Taryn is holding tight to the crown. I cast a glance towards Locke and I see the familiar glint of amusement in his stare. The same glint I saw when I caught him in bed with Nicasia, when he teased me about Jude. I want to punch it off his face.

When Taryn finally lets go and Jude moves towards Oak and Vivi, I know I am to go to them as well.

“Prince Cardan,” Jude says stoically, “This is for you.”

Under normal circumstances, I probably would have caught on to the implication, but I didn't. I fought all my life for the people of Elfhame to look up to me, worship me, fear me, and they finally do. I am the villain in Balekin's story and everyone is waiting to see my next move. This high is greater than any powder ever gave me. 

“Stop!” Balekin shouts, then begins a symphony of blades unsheathing, “Stop them immediately.”

The Ghost shoots and I am afraid he killed my brother. When he calls my name, I turn to him and see that his hand is bolted to the table. 

“I know you. I know that you’d prefer I did the difficult work of ruling while you enjoyed the power,” my brother tells me, as if we were the only people in the room, “I know that you despise mortals and ruffians and fools. Come, I have not always danced to your piping, but you haven’t the stomach to truly cross me. Bring me the crown.”

The little speech does not even scratch my stony heart. He knows nothing. He has never known me. 

“Bring me the crown, Cardan.”

I turn away. I school my face in a mask of indifference. 

“No, brother. I do not think that I will," I check my nails, admiring the way the light glints off the iridescent polish, then grin at my brother, "I think that if I did not have another reason to cross you, I would do it for spite.”

I reach Oak and Jude. The little guy is holding the crown. They trust me so little that they would give it to him instead of me? Did they really think I would crown Balekin? Oak looks so docile that he could be mistaken for a human child. None of that rage I had at his age, yet we are both the unwanted offspring of cruel fathers. He survived his father's attempt at killing him, then he was adopted by a bloodthirsty warlord. I suppose a warmongering general is a better father than none at all. I clench my jaw at the thought, at all these things the lucky kid does not realize he has. Perhaps Jude's plan will turn him into a great ruler. More tolerant than Balekin would ever be.

“Show Oak,” Jude whispers to me, “Show him what he’s supposed to do. Kneel down.”

I raise a brow, “They’re going to think—” 

_ They're going to think that he will crown  _ me . 

How laughable.

“Just do it,” she shoots back.

Not a command, yet I kneel anyway. The irony of kneeling next to Jude, whom I have always wanted to see on her knees, is not lost on me.

Oak does not move, nor give me the crown. I gesture to myself, as if trying to show him how to  _ kneel _ .

“See?” I ask harshly, “Now the crown.”

I want for this to be over, I want to crown the kid and get on with my life. Whatever they do afterwards is none of my concern. Madoc will rule until Oak is old enough, with Jude to keep him in check. I can finally leave Elfhame. Perhaps even leave Faerieland altogether. I doubt the solitary fey would be glad to have one of the Gentry in their midst, but I can stay away from them. How hard could it be to live in the Mortal realm, pretend to be one of them?

Oak walks tentatively towards me. I look up at Jude, but all her attention is on Oak. I could almost think she is ignoring me. 

“Phase four,” I whisper to her. 

She bends down towards me and whispers in my ear, “For the next full minute, I command you not to move.”

The realization hit me. This was her plan all along. Gain control of me so I cannot deny her. I curse myself for a fool—of  _ course _ she would not put Oak on the throne right away. That would give too much power to the General, and she does not trust him. She doesn't trust me either, I don't think, but she now has me under her control, so she does not need to.

I try to move, but my limbs do not cooperate. Instead, there is a prickling all over my body, a growing numbness.

"Go ahead," Vivienne coaxes her foster brother, "Just like we practiced."

The kid is looking down at me. I can tell he is unsure, his eyes glossy and his eyebrows ever so slightly narrowed. He reaches towards me, crown in hand.

“I crown you… King," he says as he puts the crown on my head, "High King of Faerie.”

I feel a jolt of energy going through my body. The air suddenly feels… richer. I can hear the wind rustling branches outside. My palms are braced on the soft ground and I feel the shift of the earth as worms burrow their way through, the gentle pulse of roots feeding the trees. The land was asleep, and now it is slowly coming to life again, symbiotic with my own body. 

I flex my fingers when I realize the prickling of Jude's command has vanished. Slowly, I push myself up to my feet. Immediately, my gaze goes to  _ her _ . I can feel the power rising in response to my temper, this boiling anger inside me that wants to be freed, but I shove it down. I look around to the Folk gathered around me until I see Lord Roiben, Lord of the Court of Termites, kneeling.

"My King," he says.

Had he known that I was the one Jude wanted to crown? Surely he would not have agreed to help if he did. Ruthless Roiben, who killed his way to the head of his court. I doubt The Black Knight thinks me deserving of the Blood Crown.

One by one, the remaining guests kneel. As I look down on them, the words that have dictated my life come to mind.

_ He will be destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne _

Perhaps the prophecy was wrong? The crown is on my head, unbroken. The throne is not here, but with this new power in me, I just  _ know _ that it is whole. I can feel the roots connecting all the land to it, keeping it alive.

The only people left standing are me and Balekin, locked in a staredown. He sees right through me, to all my insecurities and fear, and I let him. I refuse to cower, not anymore, never again.

"Rise," I command with more authority than I feel.

I can tell the people of Elfhame are waiting for me to give some kind of speech, but I have more pressing matters.

The guests get up and the silence is deafening. No music, no drinking, no cheering. I put a hand on my hip.

"Get all this rubble cleaned," I order the nearest servant, "the celebration has only begun. Bring the cellar's best wine."

I gesture the guards towards Balekin, "Take him away. I will speak with him after the revel. Until then, he is to be watched every moment. Do give him plenty to indulge while he waits, he is no prisoner."

I turn away from them, not waiting to see if they obey. I grab a goblet of wine from a passing servant and raise it.

"Let us toast to wine, for without its effect, my head would have rolled alongside my siblings'," the folk laugh and cheer, "Here's to all of you, who traveled far and wide to witness this feast of fools. I vow to have a reign worthy of this coronation, depraved and unpredictable."

I turn towards Jude and take in this mortal girl whose trickery is on par with the Fae, this mortal girl who poisoned my life. My one rival who tricked and cheated me. Yet I am in awe of her. Her knife-sharp gaze dares me to fight her, I grin at her instead.

"And to Jude, who gave me a gift tonight. One that I plan to repay in kind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was where I was planning on ending this originally, but I decided to add a bonus smutty chapter for you heathens. I might also add a chapter between this one and the smut, if inspiration strikes, but I am not planning on diving in the other books for now. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, they warm my cold heart. Happy new year, stay home, stay safe!
> 
> EDIT: ayooo I'm on tumblr now @laequiem if you want to ask me stuff/make requests!


	14. Oh, to love me 'stead of passing by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "that was the last chapter before the smut", I said in the last chapter notes.  
> I didn't mean to lie, this chapter just... happened. Oops. I just thought something was missing.  
> Title from Something like this - Scissor Sisters

In typical Elfhame fashion, the party lasts through the night and will likely last for a few more days. When the first rays of sunshine appear through the windows, I call for the revel to be moved to the palace. I retreat from the main room of Hollow Hall and make my way to my old room, eager to rid myself of the drab outfit I am wearing. I am vaguely aware of the guards following me, but I pay them no mind.

I shrug off my clothes as I make my way towards my closet. I pick a frilly shirt, whose gauzy fabric shifts from blue to purple depending on the lighting, a pair of simple black pants and a long cape made of thousands of raven feathers. I walk to my vanity and look at myself in the mirror. My tail is out, and I think about tucking it in but… no. After all, with my newfound magic, it's not the only thing that can betray my mood.

I remove the boring earring I was wearing, replacing it with many silver hoops and studs. I don a handful of rings on both hands before smearing silvery glitter on my cheeks and kohl around my eyes. Finally, I look like myself—well, myself with a crown. I tilt the crown on my head until it sits askew and… there. Perfect.

When I leave my room, I ask the nearest servant to call for a carriage, then make my way towards Balekin’s office. There are two guards planted in front of the door and two more following me when I go in. My brother is sitting with his boots on his desk, an empty bottle of whisky knocked over next to him. Scarlet moths are fluttering around him in the dim light.

"Cardan, what a surprise,” Balekin says, his tone bored.

"I believe it's  _ High King Cardan _ now," I point at the crown on my head with a grin. 

He snorts and removes his legs from his desk. 

"I must admit, I underestimated you,” he leans over and rests his chin on a fist, “Or maybe it was all your mortal whore's doing?"

I close the distance between me and the desk in two long strides. I slam my hands on the desk as a bolt of thunder cracks outside, near the window. 

"Don't you fucking  _ dare _ talk about her that way."

Balekin grins wide, and I realize I bit the bait. He is trying—and succeeding—to get under my skin.

"You know Elfhame needs a strong ruler. Let us duel for the crown."

"Now, why would I do that? I already have the crown."

He snarls and gets up, slamming his hands on the desk the same way I did. 

"You can't truly believe you would make a good king, you know about the—”

"I don't,” I cut in before he can start ranting about prophecies and curses and whatnot.

"Then why?,” he throws his hands up, “Don't you want the best for this kingdom? You never cared about anything."

"Perhaps I want to take everyone down with me,” I turn my back to him, then look back over my shoulder, “Or perhaps I just want to smite you.”

“Cardan, I  _ will _ get that crown.”

I roll my eyes, even if he can’t see my face.

“Enough,” I say, then turn my attention to the guards, “Throw him in the Tower of Forgetting.”

* * *

When the carriage drops me at the palace, the dallying crowd parts, making a straight path to the throne room.

To the throne itself.

During the time I spent watching the people— _ my people _ —revelling back at Hollow Hall, my thoughts kept going back to it.

_ The ruination of the throne. _

Perhaps the prophecy is not meant to be taken so literally. Still, I don't think I would ever get over the humiliation if I were to fall on my ass because the throne broke as I sat upon it.

The crowd kneels as I walk to the throne. Most of the lower lords and ladies are long gone, but I recognize a few familiar faces: Locke, Nicasia and many of Balekin's entourage. No trace of the Duarte family.

When I reach the throne, I turn towards the kneeling folk with an overly dramatic flip of my cape. I take a deep breath, hoping nobody will notice, and sit down.

I realize with utter relief that nothing happens. The throne did not collapse, the palace is not on fire and nobody has tried to kill me… yet. I grin widely as I look down at all who doubted me, all who rejected me.

"Rise."

* * *

I partake in the revel for a few days. Servants bring me wine aplenty, girls hover around me like the flies in the stables where I grew up.

After what I assume was two days, the excitement of the coronation starts dying down. The wine I drink barely has an effect on me and I snapped more than once at people trying to suck up to me. 

At first, I blamed it on the wine being bad. When my favorite honey wine did not improve my mood, I blamed the lack of sleep. But my eyes kept searching the crowd, desperately looking for a glimpse of brown hair and the curve of a human ear. Jude did not attend the revel, only vanished after the toast. I did not expect her to gloat, but I thought she would at least be around to ensure I don't make a fool out of myself—and out of her.

She  _ will _ be around, won't she? I need her to be around. Not only do I not want the responsibility of a kingdom on my shoulders, I also don't know the first thing about running one. My hands start shaking as I think of her abandoning me like this, like everyone else ever did. Use me to prevent Balekin from being King or Madoc from ruling as regent, then disappear to let me figure things out on my own.

I can't do this on my own. She should know that.

I need to find a reason to keep Jude around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr now!! [@laequiem](http://laequiem.tumblr.com)  
> Feel free to send me requests and prompts!


	15. You break my heart when you try to play nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut y'all have been waiting for. I hope it was worth the wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Better Luck - Scissor Sisters

"Welcome to your new quarters, if you would have them."

I lean back against the door, arms crossed. Jude is glaring at me. Finding her when I left the revel had been quite the challenge. I ended up having to enlist a few guards to find her and lead her to Elowyn’s old rooms. I know they connect to the Court of Shadows—Dain would not have missed an opportunity to spy on one of his two main rivals to the throne— and thus make the perfect rooms for Jude.

"Congratulations, Jude Duarte," I drawl, "I hereby appoint you as my seneschal."

"Why," she replies dryly, more a demand than a question.

"I'm offering you a position in court. Isn't that what you always wanted? At least one of us will get what they want."

"You're High King, you can get anything you want."

"I didn't  _ want _ to be High King," I growl, my anger rising once again at the reminder, "and you knew that. You  _ betrayed _ my trust."

"And what is it that you want, Cardan?"

The question hits me like a punch in the gut. That is quite the question, isn't it? I want recognition, power, adoring folk at my feet. But I also want to be left alone, without the burden of a kingdom. I want to prove to Balekin and the rest of my dead family that I am not worthless, but I also want to leave Faerieland altogether and live far from the people who rejected me. 

I take a step towards her. She steps back. I take another step, and she is against the wall. I run a finger along her jawline to her chin and lift her face to meet my gaze. There is only one thing I want without a doubt, my desire to have her a contradiction in and of itself.

"You already know what I want. You made me tell you."

Jude flinches. I lean in to kiss the fading bruise on her cheek. I kiss her jaw, moving towards the ear. 

"Command me to stop," I plead, a breath away from her ear.

I should stop. I cannot.

She stays silent. I tug at her earlobe with my teeth and she lets out a soft gasp that is sure to haunt me for the rest of my days. I feel her hands fisting the fabric of my doublet, like she is trying to keep from touching me, but she does not stop me. I trail gentle kisses down her throat. For all my rage at being betrayed, I cannot help but admire the cunning she showed. How much does she distrust her father, for her to think me a better option for the throne? She knows how unfit I am, she has always seen through my mask.

"Cardan," she whispers softly.

I pull back to look at her, completely expecting her to command me to stop. I believed I would find hate in her gaze, anger or maybe the usual arrogance, but she only looks… tired. Maybe even vulnerable, or as close to it as she lets herself be. Before I can let my mind wander more, her lips brush against mine chastily. 

"Distract me," she orders, looking away from me.

I am walking a rope hung between two cliffs. One bad move and I she might push me to my death—and I would welcome it gladly. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, fear and excitement mingling in my mind. A smirk creeps on my lips.

"You'll have to be more precise, I can think of a few ways to distract you," I raise my brows and let my tail trail up her side. She swats at it.

"I hate you."

"I know."

Her hands tangle in my hair and our lips meet again, more urgently than before. Teeth and tongues clash and I can taste the poison once again. It's stronger than last time, as if my body is trying to tell me to stop.

Without breaking the kiss, she pushes me backwards, again and again until my knees hit the bed. I grip her hips and drag her down to sit above me. I am painfully aware that, in this new position, she can feel exactly how aroused I am. I expect her to ridicule me, to mock me like I often did to her. Instead, she surprises me by tearing off my shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

Jude tentatively moves against me. Again. Again. 

I have never had someone do this before, fully-clothed.

My hands travel to rest on her hips and I guide her to a faster, steady pace. We're not even  _ touching _ , how can this feel so good? 

Quickly, too quickly, I get closer to finishing. I tighten my grip on her hips and stop her, my head thrown back. I hold her above me and take a few deep breaths.

"You'll be the end of me," I whisper through ragged breath.

I flip us around and pin her to the bed with my body. I kiss her hungrily as I let my hand travel up her leg, under her skirt. Her skin is burning under my touch, the curve of her thigh so undeniably  _ human. _ I pull back to look at her, questioning, and she nods, her cheeks a bright red.

I can't help the groan that escapes my throat when I slide my finger over her underwear and feel how wet she is.  _ For me, for me, for me _ . I get off the bed, kneel on the floor and pull her to the edge of the mattress. I make quick work of removing her underwear.

"Cardan, what are you d—," Jude stops herself when I dive under her skirts, kissing and biting the inside of her thigh, making my way up her leg slowly.

The scent of her arousal is stronger here than before, a heady perfume I could get high off. She whimpers as I suck a mark on the inside of her thigh and I reward her by licking up her slit. Though, I guess it is also a reward for myself to finally taste what I have been craving for months. She tastes so sweet and tangy, I could spend hours pleasuring her. I would gladly do it on my knees in front of the whole court, if she let me. I flick her clit with my tongue in short strokes, occasionally sucking at it, but nothing I do gives me those moans I so desperately crave. My hand snakes up to grab one of her breasts. Through the fabric, I pinch her nipple, eliciting a stifled moan. She's restraining herself, I realize.

I push her skirts up towards her waist so I can look at her. Indeed, she is biting down on her hand to silence her moans.

"Sing for me, Jude," I coax, "I want to hear you."

_ I want to hear you break. _

I tease at her entrance with one of my fingers, testing her reaction. She has removed her hand from her face, but is still biting her lower lip. Defiant as ever. I plunge my finger in her and she gasps. Slowly, I stroke her inner walls, delighted at how slippery she is. I keep my eyes on Jude's as I feast, drinking in every little tell that she is letting go of her mask. She breathes out heavily from her parted lips and her brows are slightly furrowed. When I enter a second finger, her eyes roll back and she moans loudly.

I suck at her knot as I curl my fingers towards the spot I know will make her squirm. Her thighs twitch around me, tightening around my head before Jude's hand comes down to grab my hair. She is both pushing my head towards her and pulling me away, clearly not knowing what to do with her hands and fighting her own body.

Her thighs tighten around my head and she stops trying to pull me away, instead pushing me into her. I keep my pace steady. When I feel her walls pulse around my fingers, I suck on her clitoris before biting it once slightly. Her legs kick up as she comes with a cry, her whole body shaking with pleasure.

I keep stroking her slowly through the waves of her orgasm until she stills.

"How—," Jude starts, voice confused and breathless, "That… It never felt like this before when I…" 

She lets out a grunt of frustration, pushes me away and gets up. I climb on the bed and lay on it, a hand behind my head. If this is where we stop, it is more than I ever hoped for. But my mouth dries up as she reaches behind her back and undoes the laces of her bodice. She lets the dress drop to the floor, followed by her bra that she miraculously undoes with only one hand.

I swallow as I take her in, standing in front of me completely naked. My gaze trails her every scar and imperfection, admiring every way she differs from others I have seen before. From the hair and bruises on her legs to the way her stomach protrudes slightly and the ripples in her thighs, I know I could spend hours looking and still find more to worship. Her plump breasts fall with every breath she takes and a fine layer of sweat coats her body. I have to clamp my mouth shut to avoid blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind, the only truth I know undeniably in this moment:  _ you're beautiful _ . With her looking down at me like that, her eyes filled with lust and anger, I cannot ignore my heart pounding wildly. What wouldn't I give to always be the target of that stare?

Jude straddles me once again, her hands making quick work of my pant laces. It turns out, bedding Jude Duarte is more akin to fighting than the frolicking of faeries. Power being given and taken, both parties refusing to let the other win.

"You're so eager, one would think you crowned me just to take a king to bed," I tease, because I'm nervous and I don't know what else to do.

"Shut up," she barks as she shifts to tug down my pants.

Jude takes my cock in her hand and I let out a hiss.  _ Fuck _ , she's barely touching me and I melt like putty under her touch. She lines it up with her core and I inhale sharply as a knot of anticipation forms in my stomach.

"You always know what to say to piss me off," she slips down on me in one motion, her face scrunching in pain, "I hate you."

I throw my head back as I bottom out into her. I'm in Jude and in this moment, hate or not, Jude is mine and mine only and I am hers and nothing else matters. 

"Yes," I groan between ragged breaths, "Yes, Jude, tell me."

I gather some composure to look up at her. Jude is biting her lower lip again, brows knitted together, clearly still in pain. How very typical of Jude to go too fast and hurt herself all in order to keep control. I sit up, desperate to touch more of her, but also to soothe her. I kiss her collarbones and make my way up her neck as my hands rub circles down her back, giving her time to get used to my size. 

"I hate that you're so good at hurting me."

She still refuses to look at me, but I keep my attention on her. I would be a fool to miss even a second of this.

"I could show you how good I am at pleasuring you, if you would let me," I nibble at her ear and continue in a whisper, "I have so many ideas when it comes to you."

She glares at me and I give her the best grin I can manage at the moment—which is to say, probably more of a dumb-stuck smile than anything with a bite. Finally, Jude starts moving, slowly. I reach around to rest my hands on her soft buttocks, nails digging in slightly.  _ Yes, this is real, not a dream. _

"I hate that you know what you're doing and I don't."

Jude moves up and down in a steady, agonizingly slow pace. It's torture in the best possible way. I can't find it in myself to fight back when her body is pressed so closely against mine, my head buried between her breasts, nibbling and sucking at the soft flesh.

"You're doing amazing."

Her hand shots up and she pushes me back down. Immediately, she wraps that same hand around my throat.

"I hate that you  _ never shut up _ ."

My lips part as I let out a sigh. She's applying  _ just _ enough pressure for my vision to grow blurry, yet not enough to knock me unconscious. Once again, I am reminded that Jude is something else. Nobody has ever dared put their hands to my throat during sex, no matter how pleasurable it is. Most would assume it a crime punishable by death to threaten a Prince so, let alone the High King. I let my tail brush against her arm and wrap against her wrist, letting her know I want her hand there.

Jude is fucking herself on me in earnest now, her pace fast and even. I reach out to rub quick circles at the apex of her thighs, eliciting a loud moan. I can't take my eyes away from her, breathtakingly beautiful and powerful above me.  _ Using me.  _

"Judejudejude" I chant in time as I thrust up to meet her pace, my voice broken and weak, "come for me, Jude"

I quicken my ministrations on her clit, desperate to make her cum, to be the one to give her another orgasm. She comes with a cry, one I wish I could devour out of her. Instead, I am still pinned under her with her hand at my throat. As she rides her high, she unconsciously tightens her grip and dark stains cloud my vision. It's enough for me to follow her over that edge, pleasure rippling into me in waves. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise as I spend in her, her name tumbling out of my lips in a strangled whimper.

Jude lets go of my throat when I still and she collapses on my chest. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her, one of my hands brushing through her hair gently. I know she will soon remember herself and pull away, but until then I am determined to enjoy the warmth of her and the contrast of her tanned skin on mine. When I feel like I finally caught my breath, I lift her face to mine and kiss her. It's slow and careful, as if my tongue cannot lie even when I use it to kiss her. I want to tell her I hate her, too. I want to tell her that this means nothing and that I'm over her now. I want to lie to her like she lies to me, but all I can do is further prove that I am stupidly in love with her.

She leans into it for a moment, until I shift my head slightly and my lashes brush against her cheek. Her eyes snap open and she pushes me away. Jude gets up and grabs her discarded dress, holding it to her chest to hide herself. As if the image of her naked wasn’t burned in my mind forever.

"So was this whole Seneschal thing just a weird euphemism?" she accuses with a snarl.

I roll my eyes. Any trace of the bliss I have seen on her face in the last hour is gone, replaced by her usual defiant glare. I love it just as much.

"You will be controlling my every decision, I thought you might as well do it openly."

I watch as Jude turns away from me and puts her dress back on, not even bothering to do the laces of her bodice. She paces around the room for a while, then turns back to me.

"Fine," she barks out and crosses her arms, "I'll do it."

A smile tugs at my lips. For the first time since I have been crowned, I don’t feel overwhelmed. Perhaps with her by my side, I can do this.

Everything will be alright.

As long as Jude is with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your comments throughout this series, they mean the world to me.  
> I started this as a self-indulgent little thing as I waited for the novella, and some people actually read the whole thing?? absolutely insane
> 
> fun fact: I realized while proofreading that this chapter totally fits with the lyrics of the song I named this whole thing after (she strangles for a good time / and she kills my self-control). 
> 
> This is definitely not the end of me writing for this fandom. So if you want to see what I'm up to next, head over to my tumblr [@laequiem](http://laequiem.tumblr.com) :)


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